Retir'd from all the circles of the gay,
And all the crowds, that bustle life away,
To scenes, where competition, envy, strife,
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life.
Let me, the charge of some good angel, find
One, who has known, and has escaped mankind;
Polite, yet virtuous, who has brought away
The manners, not the morals, of the day:
With him, perhaps with her, (for men have known
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown,)
Let me enjoy, in some unthought-of spot,
All former friends forgiven, and forgot,
Down to the close of life's fast fading scene,
Union of hearts, without a flaw between.
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise,
If God give health, that sunshine of our days'
And if he add, a blessing shared by few,
Content of heart, more praises still are due-
But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest;
And giving one, whose heart is in the skies,
Born from above, and made divinely wise,
He gives, what bankrupt nature never can,
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man,
Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew,
A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true
IN BREVITATEM VITÆ SPATII HOMINIBUS CONCESSI.
HEI mihi! Lege rata sol occidit atque resurgit,
Lunaque mutatæ reparat dispendia formæ,
Astraque, purpurei telis extincta diei,
Rursus nocte vigent. Humiles telluris alumni
Graminis herba verens, et florum picta propago,
Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit,
Cum Zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereni
Temperies anni, fœcundo, e cespite surgunt.
Nos domini rerum, nos, magna et pulchra minati,
Cum breve ver vitæ robustaque transiit ætas,
Deficimus; nec nos ordo revolubilis auras
Reddit in æthereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvit
TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.
SUNS that set, and moons that wane,
Rise, and are restor❜d again,
Stars that orient day subdues,
Night at her return renews.
Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth
Of the genial womb of earth,
Suffer but a transient death
From the winter's cruel breath
Zephyr speaks; serener skies
Warm the glebe, and they arise.
We, alas! Earths haughty kings,
We, that promise mighty things,
Losing soon life's happy prime,
Droop, and fade, in little time.
Spring returns, but not our bloom,
Still 'tis winter in the tomb.
HERE Johnson lies-a sage by all allow'd,
Whom to have bred, may well make England proud
Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught;
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought;
Whose verse may claim-grave, masculine, and strong,
Superiour praise to the mere poet's song;
Who many a noble gift from Heav'n possess'd,
And faith at last, alone worth all the rest.
O man, immortal by a double prize,
By fame on earth-by glory in the skies!
TO MISS C, ON HER BIRTH-DAY
How many between east and west,
Disgrace their parent earth,
Whose deeds constrain us to detest
The day that give them birth'
Not so when Stella's natal morn
Revolving months restore,
We can rejoice that she was born,
And wish her born once more '
ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH.
THIS cap, that so stately appears,
With riband-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears
Ambitious of brushing the sky:
This cap to my cousin I owe,
She gave it, and gave me beside,
Wreath'd into an elegant bow,
The riband with which it is tied.
This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contriv'd both for toil and repose,
Wide-elbow'd and wadded with hair,
In which I both scribble and doze,
Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes,
And rival in lustre of that
In which, or astronomy lies,
Fair Cassiopeia sat:
These carpets, so soft to the foot,
Caledonia's traffick and pride,
Oh, spare them, ye knights of the boot
Escaped from a cross-country ride.
This table and mirror within,
Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin
And periwig nicely adjust ·
11
This moveable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admired, and its use,
And charged with octavos and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce.
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,
My poems enchanted 1 view,
And hope, in due time to behold
My Iliad and Odyssey too:
This china, that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a buffet,
But what the gods call it above,
Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet
These curtains, that keep the room warin
Or cool, as the season demands,
These stoves that for pattern and form,
Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands:
All these are not half that I owe
To one, from her earliest youth
To me ever ready to show
Benignity, friendship, and truth;
For time, the destroyer declar'd
And foe of our perishing kind,
If even her face he has spar'd,
Much less could he alter her mind.
Thus compass'd about with the goods
And chattels of leisure and ease,
I indulge my poetical moods,
In many such fancies as these;
And fancies I fear they will seem-
Poets' goods are not often so fine;
The poets will swear that I dream,
Whon I sing of the splendour of mine.
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